


Philanthropist

by LandOfBreathAndDeath



Series: Three things [3]
Category: The Batman (Cartoon)
Genre: Assault, Grumpy Bruce, Nervous Dick, Stabbing, honestly these two are such twitchy nerds i love them, sneaking around the batcave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8032531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandOfBreathAndDeath/pseuds/LandOfBreathAndDeath
Summary: Bruce uses his money for a good cause, bad guys use him using his money for the worst cause.





	Philanthropist

**Author's Note:**

> in today's installment of me not doing my goddamn homework
> 
> anyway this is the last of this series, but I've just finished Young Justice, The Batman, and I'm working on Batman, the animated series right now. I'm rly feeling this whole Wayne family dynamic.
> 
> ALSO I am currently looking for a beta reader for my DC fics, so if you're interested please please please contact me bc I am too busy to write which means editing is not a thing I can do currently.

Philanthropist.

Dick was standing by Bruce’s side, pouting. The ball that was being sponsored by Wayne Industries was raising money for Gotham’s Troubled Youth, an organization that helped children that had the potential to fall into crime. Hundreds of bodies filled the ballroom, dancing to the big band that was belting out the classics. Bruce had waltzed with a few women, but for now, he was watching Dick. There had been some threats earlier, that promised that Bruce would die before the night’s end. Of course, one of the criminals that had made a threat had already been apprehended by the Batman.

“I’m still worried, Bruce,” Dick said.

“We can handle it.”

“We’re not… them.”

Bruce frowned. He looked down at his small ward. “They’re not very far behind, Dick. Besides, aren’t you having fun tonight?”

“Are you serious?” 

Bruce laughed, putting his hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Do you want me to call Alfred?”

“…No,” Dick murmured.

“Go get something to drink for us. I think we could both use the distraction. Now,” Bruce pulled his sleeve up to check the time. “I need to practice my speech before I get up there. I’ll be in the lobby.” He handed Dick a $50 bill.

Dick wondered if he’d ever get used to the sheer amount of money Bruce had. With that, he wandered through the crowd to the bar, dodging the wayward feet of the various dancers. Dick reached up, placing the bill on the bar.

“Water with lemon and a Kentucky Mule, please,”

“I can’t sell you alcohol, ki-“ The bartender froze, seeing Dick. _Everyone_ knew Bruce Wayne’s ward. “Sure thing, boss.”

Dick’s head was just at bar level, so he got a good view of all the people who sat there. Nobody looked dangerous, but if Bruce had taught him anything, it was that looks can be deceiving. The drinks appeared in front of him, and so did his change. He left a hefty tip and went for the main lobby, where Bruce was pacing and reciting his words. Dick handed him his drink, and lounged on one of the chase chairs. Massive chandeliers tinkled whenever the air conditioning kicked on in the building. It really was a beautiful building, but Dick was coming to feel more and more trapped. He reached down and grabbed his glass.

“What do you think, Dick?”

“You’re gonna give that speech anyway.” Dick grumbled.

Bruce laughed, sipping his drink. “True. Go on inside, they’ll be shutting the doors soon for the speech.”

With that, Dick rose to his feet, grumbling about talkative billionaires. He sipped his water as he went inside, and the doors were locked behind him. Bruce was going to take a side entrance straight onto the main stage. The big band was off the stage, leaving the helpers to sweep and set up the podium. As Dick settled at the Wayne table, a scream broke out from behind him.

_“He’s been stabbed!”_

The talking stopped. Heads began turning, trying to find who was stabbed.

“Someone call an ambulance!”

And Dick was running towards the stage door before he knew it. Faintly, he heard someone screaming to grab him, but he was too quick, too acrobatic. He cartwheeled through the door, vaulting sofas and people alike to get to the lobby. Security guards formed a tight semi-circle around a tall, muscular man who laid groaning on the floor.

“Don’t let hi- him see.”

Bruce.

_Bruce._

_BRUCE._

Dick screamed. He threw himself through the semi-circle, finding his mentor, his father, clutching his side as bright red blood dripped out. Dick gripped his hand, pulling it away to see the wound. It was nasty. Whatever weapon that had been used wasn’t a simple kitchen or hunting knife. It left jagged cuts, with bits of tissues and flesh hanging loosely from his body. He pressed his hand to Bruce’s side as hot tears scalded his cheeks.

“Dick, no,” Bruce grimaced, looking paler by the minute.

He reached into Bruce’s pocket, finding his cell phone. He selected the emergency call button on the lock screen, and leaned against his mentor as the dispatcher answered.

“What’s your emergency?” The dispatcher’s voice was monotone.

“My father, Bruce Wayne was just stabbed! We’re at the Gotham Ball room on 52nd and main.”

“Stay calm. Help is on the way. How does he look?”

“Oh, god, there’s so much blood. Please hurry. He l-looks pale,” Dick hiccupped.

“They’re almost there. What’s your name?”

“Dick. Dick Grayson.”

“Okay, listen Dick, the ambulance is a block away. Can you do something for me?”

“Sure,” He replied numbly as Bruce reached up with his other hand to thumb some of Dick’s tears away.

“Put pressure on the wound.”

“I’m already doing that.”

“Good. Good job, Dick. The ambulance should be there now. You can stay on the phone with me until they have your father.”

There was a flurry of activity as a team of paramedics burst through the lobby doors, descending on Bruce and Dick. A pair of hands pulled him away from his mentor as the paramedics set to work. They placed Bruce on a stretcher and loaded him up into the back of the ambulance. Dick climbed in with him, much to the paramedic’s dismay. He called Alfred, informing him that Bruce had been stabbed.

It could have been hours, days, or minutes. Dick had no idea. He’d thrown himself at Alfred when he arrived, shivering. It was stupid, really. The batman had been stabbed, shot, tortured, and nearly dropped in acid. Robin had gone through much of the same.

But _Dick_ had never seen _Bruce_ hurt.

Finally, a doctor walked into the waiting room. 

“Bruce Wayne?” He called.

Alfred helped Dick up. “Yes?” Alfred asked.

“He’s okay. The stab wound wasn’t too terribly deep. He has stitches right now, and should refrain from doing any strenuous physical activity for a few weeks. He is awake, if you want to see him.”

Dick nearly tore Alfred’s hand off he was so excited. The old butler released the boy, and he took off down the hall towards Bruce’s room. He leapt onto the bed, grabbing his mentor in a tight hug.

“Ngh, careful, Dick. Side.” He grunted.

“I’m never leaving your side again.”

“I thought as much,” Bruce sighed as he wrapped an arm around his ward. 

Alfred entered the room, and years that Dick hadn’t noticed back in the waiting room vanished from his face.

“I had thought that all the training with the Tibetan monks would have made you more aware of your surroundings, Master Bruce.”

Bruce simply smiled at his old friend.

The next day they returned back to the manor. Of course, Bruce denied any assistance in getting up the steps and managed to bust his stitches. Dick visited him when he got back from school, showing him all the tests that he had aced. Bruce ruffled his hair and congratulated him.

“Patrol tonight?” He asked.

“No. Alfred will murder me if I split my stitches again. Gotham will be okay without us for one night.”

Dick didn’t seem pleased with this answer. “But we gotta find the guy who stabbed you!”

“And we will. But we’re not doing ourselves any favor by doing it now. Go finish your homework and,” His voice dropped. _“Don’t set a foot in the Cave.”_

“No feet in the cave,” Dick said after a moment of hesitation. “Got it.”

Bruce watched him leave. With a sigh of resignation, he settled into his bed and called Alfred.

Dick sat in the living room, glaring at his reading for the night. Gotham’s various villains would wreak havoc if they knew that he wouldn’t be out. But then, nobody else besides Dick and Alfred knew the true identity of Batman, so the criminals wouldn’t know. 

Still.

Bruce said no feet in the cave.

He didn’t say anything about hanging from the support beams. 

Dick scribbled down some generic answers for the questions and left it all there. He sneaked to the grandfather clock, listening as Alfred ascended the stairs to Bruce’s room. He pulled one of the chains and the entire clock lifted, revealing the elevator to the cave. He jumped up, using his feet to brace himself on the rails in the elevator. As the elevator doors opened, Dick leapt out. He threw his weight forward into a frontal aerial flip and landed on the support beam. The Batwave was blaring its klaxon while the monitor lit up with information. There were multiple reports of Cat-woman and Penguin breaking into various museums and banks. Dick sighed. He had never gone on a mission by himself before. However, Gotham still needed Batman and Robin. He flipped down to the cases that housed the Robin and the Bat’s suits. With a quick swipe, the case door opened. Dick pulled out his uniform and shrugged it on. 

Robin stared at the cave, wondering just how he was going to leave. He couldn’t take the Batmobile – considering that Batman had encrypted all his Bat tech so only he could open it. Dick couldn’t create Bruce’s fingerprints, or his eyes. Locks were easy. Biosecurity – not so much.

_His bike!_ Robin wanted to smack himself. Bruce had set the biosecurity so only Robin could unlock and start his bike. He’d be too far before Bruce realized where he went and could stop him. He flipped and spun and cartwheeled over to where his and Batgirl’s bikes were parked. Dick landed on his bike with a soft thump. He let his feet graze the floor.

“You almost had it.”

Dick nearly flew out of his skin. He grabbed his Batarang, turning to face the intruder. Instead, he found Bruce with a smirk on his face.

“Really, I’m impressed,” Bruce reached down and switched off Robin’s bike. So he _could_ also turn off Robin’s stuff as well. Of course, Bruce would design it like that. “But I did warn you not to set a foot in the cave.”

Robin groaned, flopping face first on his bike.

“I’m grounded, aren’t I?”

“You’re grounded.”


End file.
